


the price of a free and fair election

by hapsburgs



Series: by nature political animals [1]
Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: AU, F/M, Political Campaigns, Politics, don't ask me what this is because i have no idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapsburgs/pseuds/hapsburgs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee Catherine Goode loathes House Minority Whip Joe Solomon - too bad they are running against each other in the Presidential election.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the price of a free and fair election

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teesandjays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teesandjays/gifts).



> title stolen from the Scandal season 3 finale because I have no shame. 
> 
> Kind of like what would happen if the characters in Veep suddenly joined the world of House of Cards. 
> 
> And congrats on the scholarship, Tonya :D I am very very much proud.

"Tell me about Joseph Solomon." Catherine leans back in her high leather chair, twirling her pen thoughtfully in her fingers.

 

"Joseph Solomon was born in Southern California," Her campaign manager, Edward Townsend, pulls up a slide on her competition. "Straight As throughout school, captain of the Lacrosse team. Parents were blue collar - lower class, you know. He got a full scholarship to Stanford where he studied PoliSci. Top of his class at Duke Law, current House Minority Whip and the most popular man in the Democratic party."

 

"I don't give a flying fuck about that." Catherine sighs, rocking side to side. "Tell me what's _interesting_ about Congressman Solomon."

 

Edward laughs sourly. "If you're looking for a drug filled past or secret prostitute girlfriend, you'll find none. He's clean as a whistle. Volunteers at homeless shelters and living facilities for the elderly."

 

"Fuck me." She complains. "I hate this election shit. Just give me the presidency now."

 

"You can't get too overconfident." Edward places his hands on her desk, leaning over her. "Yes, beating the President incumbent for the nomination was _huge_. But Joe Solomon is America's darling, and the GOP is not going to accept a 37 year old, single, pro-choice moderate so easily."

 

She sighs dramatically, spinning in her chair. "I hate the democratic process. When I'm elected, I should just fucking burn the Constitution."

 

"And _that_ ," Edward laughs dryly. "Is how not to get elected President of the United States."

* * *

 

"You're really wearing stilettos to a baseball game." Edward looks up from his phone as she slips into the town car across from him.

 

"What, did you want me to wear converse like a fucking twat?" She sneers, adjusting her sunglasses as the car detail takes off towards the Nationals stadium.

 

"I'm just saying, Joe Solomon will be wearing a jersey to look more relatable to the American public." Edward smirks.

 

"Then why aren't you wearing one?" She snaps, eyeing his tailored suit. "And fuck Joe Solomon,  and fuck the American public, the ignorant idiots."

 

"I can't believe you're going to be our next President." He exhales, shaking his head, and turning back to his Blackberry.

 

And yes, Joe Solomon is wearing a baseball jersey. And a baseball hat, looking as American as apple pie. Meanwhile, her heels are sinking into the grass and she wants to shoot herself, pretending to be interested in batting averages and RBIs.

 

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Senator Goode." Congressman Solomon smiles politely as he stands next to her for a photo op with the team.

 

She rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses.

 

"Are you throwing out the first pitch?" He inquires nicely.

 

"No, but if I was, I'd be aiming straight for your face." She grins, seething through her teeth, and he laughs, like she's the funniest thing in the world.

 

"You should take this." He carefully takes his baseball at off his head and places it on hers. "Wouldn't want you to burn up in this hot Washington sun." He smiles, and she flushes because _what the fuck is he doing even_

"As head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, I could legally have him assassinated." She informs Edward as she stalks away, pulling the hat down harder on her head because it is really fucking hot out.

 

"I'm sure the American public would _love_ that."

 

* * *

 

"Why is it that every reporter asks _him_ about his health reform plan and _I_ only get asked about my wardrobe?" Catherine rages as she stomps down a hallway of the West Wing, her team following her hurriedly. "I _hate_ this stupid fucking hellhole of a city. You know,  our founding fathers purposefully built the new capitol in such an undesirable location to force politicians to get their business done quickly.

 

"And _this_ -" She gestures towards a hideous upholstered couch as they storm by, "has to go when I'm elected."

 

"That's rather presumptuous, don't you think?" A low, amused voice drawls, and yes she has basically just run face first into Joe Solomon.

 

She doesn't even have anything to say to him, so she just blinks for a half a second before attempting to shove by him, but he catches her wrist with a laugh.

 

"Oh Senator, we _must_ seem to be getting along. After all, reporters are just swarming the White House." He slips her arm in his, leading them down the narrow hallway, the picture of amiable opponents.

 

She almost grabs an antique handgun off the wall to club him to death with.

 

"Getting ready for the first debate, Senator?" He inquires, glancing down at her, green eyes sparkling and her stomach burns with hatred.

 

"Absolutely. Getting ready for the trip out to Ohio." She plasters a smile on her face, trying not to vomit at the mention of one of those ridiculous fly over states.

 

"You know, I've always found the opportunities to travel away from the Capitol appealing. Interacting with real Americans." He points out and she suddenly wants a shot of Tequila.

 

"There are no cameras, you need not be so...artificial." She points out softly, hand tensing on his arm.

 

"Who ever said this was artificial?" His eyebrows quirk in mock confusion, and she internally cringes at the thought that someone could genuinely care so much.

 

"Now look at these bright young faces." A voice booms as they enter the Oval office side by side. Steven Saunders rises to his feet, laughing as he shakes Solomon's hand. He gives Catherine a long once over, staring a half of a second too long at her chest before embracing her and she cringes. Yes, America elected Kentucky's biggest pervert as their leader. Amazing.

 

"An honor to see you as always, Mr. President." Joe's grin is blinding, and Catherine wonders if she can get away with killing him with her shoe. Surely the seal on the carpet has seen worse than a little blood, and Saunders wants to keep the position in the party.

 

The President goes on and on about the fate of the Republic and Catherine has to blink more than a baked college Art major to stay awake.

 

"Well, I'll leave you two to get used to the office." The President winks, staring at her legs for a solid fifteen seconds before exiting to give them some time.

 

"You two are friendly." Joe laughs low, husky, and it's an entirely different tone than every other time they've met. It sends a long shiver down her spine, and she scoffs to try and hide the feeling.

 

"He's a vile man."

 

"He's the most powerful man in the world." He replies, leaning against another hideously upholstered couch that she knows she will one day replace.

 

"If you think that Steven Saunders is the most powerful man in the world, you are sadly mistaken." Catherine smirks, rolling her shoulders. "But when this is my lovely office in a few short months, I will not be walked over as he was."

 

The smile has slid off of his face, and he's analyzing her so carefully that she shifts under his gaze, though she refuses to break it. He takes two long, smooth steps closer to her, and she automatically tenses, inhales sharply at the swirl of different shades of green and blue of his eyes.

 

_Fuck, he's attractive._

 

The thought comes to her unwillingly, and she immediately kicks herself. Joe Solomon is, admittedly, hot as hell, and looks damn fine in a tailored suit. She suddenly wants to wreck his neatly pressed hair and tear apart his silk tie, leave marks all over his neck that  can be seen on TV.

 

She's not above sleeping with the enemy, certainly, but not in this case. She will not be caught dead anyway _near_ Joe Solomon.

 

"You are very confident." Joe notices, smirking slightly and she takes two steps back towards the door.

 

"I will not let myself be intimidated by men like you, Congressman." She sneers, hand on the doorknob.

 

"So you admit that you're intimidated?" His lips quirk up in a grin, and she has the urge to stomp her feet dramatically.

 

"I think we're done here."

* * *

 

She watches Solomon on SNL in her apartment, on her bed, in the middle of a mess of Chinese takeout and drafts of speeches.

 

Her campaign team wanted her to watch it with them back at HQ, but she made a big fuss about how ridiculous it would be, that it didn't really matter, that _real_ candidates don't waste their time on late night shows.

 

But here she is, in her old sweatpants from college, hair piled messily on top of her head, and thick reading glasses hanging off of her nose, watching her sworn enemy on SNL while she eats Lo Mein.

 

She doesn't dare laugh once, though objectively she supposes the show is humorous. She wishes he wasn't funny, wasn't self-deprecating and good humored, but he is and it's nauseating.

 

He's wearing a cashmere sweater over a button down and khakis that are just a tad too tight and she's pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before she even realizes what's happening.

 

She throws her box of noodles at her TV before angrily lays back down on her bed in defeat.

 

* * *

 

Anderson Cooper asks her what she thinks of Joe Solomon during her 60 Minutes interview. She offers a well rehearsed laugh, and spews some bullshit about how they disagree on domestic policy.

 

"But what do you really think of him?" He asks, eyebrow raised, and the grin slides off of her face. For a half moment, the lights blind her and her stomach flips at the thought of every camera on her.

 

"Well," She coughs. "Congressman Solomon is an intelligent, dynamic candidate for the Presidency. I have the utmost respect for him." It sounds robotic, and she laughs a little anyway. "I do hope you're not cajoling me into trashing the other candidate on national TV, Anderson."

 

He laughs, moving on to health care reform, and she exhales. Now _these_ are questions she can answer. Not ones about Joe Solomon.

 

She is unprepared to get a call from him that night, as she goes over voter breakup in Vermont in her hotel room.

 

"How did you get this number?" She asks, subconsciously putting down her stack of papers.

 

"From Abby. I think she and Edward are fucking." The curse sounds strange coming from him - someone who looks like an archangel and a golden retriever combined.

 

"Your Press Secretary who just graduated from Ole Miss or some other cult university?"

 

"She's thirty two and went to Dartmouth, I'll have you know. But she does give off a sorority sister vibe, I'll admit." He chuckles, and she unwittingly smiles. "So you find me intelligent and dynamic and you respect me? High praise."

 

"You watched the interview." She says flatly, crossing her arms.

 

"Of course." He admits. "Our debates will certainly be something."

 

She lets a long moment pass, silence thickening. "I watched you on SNL."

 

"And?"

 

"I don't find such farce humorous." She replies dryly, and his laughter resonates from the other end of the line.

 

"I find you humorous." He says, and he can almost see the smirk pulling at his lips. "Where are you right now, Senator?"

 

"You know I'm in New York."

 

"Tell me about it." He inquires, and she hears some shuffling, like he's settling in for a story.

"It's fine." She shrugs. "Busy, smells like burning garbage, the usual." She pauses, playing with the hair tie on her wrist. "And you? How's Maine?"

 

"Beautiful." He exhales, and she grins despite herself. "Trees changing color, crisp fall air, dark stormy sea." Her eyes start to droop, images of rocky bluffs and storm blown towns dancing in her head. "Goodnight, Catherine."

 

The way he says her name makes her heart contract.

 

 _Catherinecatherinecatherine_ whispers her off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

"Are you ready for Ohio?" Edward sits her down on the campaign bus somewhere in the middle of Florida.

 

"When am I not ready?" She responds, eating a handful of peanuts and trying to look around him to watch CSPAN.

 

"Focus." He snaps, turning off the television, and she grumbles in discontent. "You are too overconfident. Solomon is nearly tied with you in the polls. He is more relatable to the general public, and you need to remedy that."

 

"Should I talk about my parents were the wealthiest people in South Carolina, that my ancestors were slave owners, or how I graduated first in my class from Princeton?" She raises an eyebrow and Edward sighs in defeat.

 

"Obviously bypass that and talk about how amazing your policy will be."

 

"Good little campaign manager." She pets his head, and he grumbles. She knows he is only putting up with her for the chance to be Chief of Staff, but she doesn't even care because _at least he puts up with her_.

 

"Regardless, you will do well in the debate. You’ve been prepped, you’re nearly too confident, and there is expected to be record viewership. Women love you because they want a female president, and men either hate you because they hate powerful women, or love you because they want to fuck you.”

 

“Comforting...and still a bit unsettling.”

 

“Chin up, sweetheart.” He laughs dryly, swiveling in his chair away from her. “This is how you become the most powerful person in the world.”

 

* * *

 

In a small auditorium in a completely ordinary high school in Defiance, Ohio, she feels nervous for the first time during her whole campaign.

 

She barely focuses as her team walks her through the stage directions, the camera angles, the mic step up and the outline of the debate. Her eyes are instead trained on Congressman Solomon, floating around her in circles with his team. Every once in awhile his gaze will catch hers, and he will send her this little smirk and she looks away, praying she isn’t blushing.

 

The debate is in two hours, and she should be getting in some last minute practice but the moment Joe Solomon shoos his team away, she asks her own for a moment of privacy.

 

“It seems as if we’re a tad mismatched.” She grins at him humorlessly, gesturing to his red tie and her blue dress. “You should be in blue, and I in red.”

 

“Abby says that red is the color of power. That it gives a lasting impression.” He replies, taking a lazy step close to her.

 

“Appealing to the public’s subconscious, then?” She raises an eyebrow.

 

“As are you.” He puts his hands in his pockets, his eyes turning all analytical again. “You’re showing enough skin to be seen as tempting, but not trashy. The makeup is inviting, warm, so it creates a nice juxtaposition - you need to give off the arm as someone comforting, who you can trust, but also mysterious and intriguing.”

 

“Did you get a Psychology degree at Stanford, too?”

 

“Just observant.” He shrugs, and her eyes sort of glaze over at the slow roll of his shoulders under his fitted suit and god is she pathetic. “Listen, good luck, okay?”

 

“Why are you so nice to me?” She half whispers, staring straight into his chest to avoid his eyes. “We’re competing for the most powerful position on the planet - you should be cutthroat, and avoiding me, and yet -"

 

"I'm nice?" He finishes, and her eyebrows knit together as she nods. "Because _I am not like you_."

 

That night, under the bright lights and in front of flashing cameras and the cheers of hundreds, she is in awe of him. She should be focusing on her rebuttal, but she watches him instead, watches the passion glowing in his eyes, the way his muscles tense under his jacket, hears the steely conviction in his voice and _she is in awe of this poor boy from California._

 

When they shake hands at the end, fake smiles plastered on their faces, she can hear their breathing, so close, and her hand in his feels like a declaration of war.

* * *

 

A week away from Election Day and two debates later, they are nearly tied in the polls. She really should be out on the trail, in Pennsylvania and North Carolina and all those other swing states, a fake grin permanently etched on her mouth as she tells the average American _how much she cares_.

 

President Saunders calls her in for a retreat at Camp David, however, and the media is loving how the pervy Commander in Chief is mentoring the two candidates, so she can't tell him blatantly to fuck off quite yet.

 

She resolves to stay a solid four yards away from Joe Solomon at all times, and quietly track polls and work on speeches until she can leave.

 

But then the President's staff takes away all electronics because god forbid technology get in the way of camaraderie.  So basically she's fucked.

 

She spends most of her time sneering at him from across the dinner table, while he pleasantly smiles like he finds her to be a vaguely amusing child. She catches sight of him jogging on the many trails of the Camp, and always automatically turns and runs in the other direction.

 

On their last day of their supposed 'vacation' (or really, 'awkward avoidance'), the President calls for a hunt because there is nothing more enjoyable to a rich, white, Southern, middle-aged, ultra-conservative than exercising his Second Amendment rights.

 

The President himself swans off into the woods somewhere, followed by a whole squadron of Secret Service, and she somehow ends up with Joe Solomon as a hunting partner.

 

As they make their way deeper into the forest, she wonders if she could get away with shooting him. After all, there was no one around for a decent kilometer, at least. She wouldn't lose any votes, she wagers, if she frames it as an accident.

 

"Thinking about killing me?" Joe asks, laughing slightly, his crunching footsteps coming to a halt.

 

"You know, speaking so loudly scares away the grouse." She raises an eyebrow, hugging her down vest closer to herself.

 

"Familiar with hunting, are you?" He leans his rifle against a tree while he crouches down to retie his boot.

 

"Dated a guy with a hunting lodge during my year at Oxford." She shrugs. "The safety better be on your rifle or else you'll shoot your eye out."

 

"Isn't that what you want?" He stands, hair falling in his eyes.

 

"Too suspicious. I have a motive and a potential murder weapon; I'd be the prime suspect." She only half jokes. He shoves his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans, and she can't believe this quasi-hipster in flannel, staring at her like she's a puzzle he's almost figured out, could maybe be President. "Don't tell me you didn't learn how to hunt in Southern California?"

 

"I never found it to my taste, though with a tour in the Navy, I can assure you I am an excellent shot." He steps closer to her, breath clouding in the crisp air, as he gently removes the rifle from her grasp.

 

"What on earth are you doing?" She hisses, but lets their fingers brush together when he removed the gun from her grasp anyway.

 

"Talking to you." He grins, then lets it slide slowly off of his face. "You'd make a good President, you know that? Though we have different stances on pretty much everything...I still think you would be good."

 

"I know I would be good." Her eyebrows quirk together as she smiles slightly, analyzing him. "Is that why you dragged me all the way out here? To ask me if I wanted a position in your cabinet?"

 

"Maybe." He leans back, watching her carefully. "You're smart, Senator. You've proven yourself extremely savvy with your campaign, you're well liked, and you would be valuable. Take your pick - State, Homeland Security, Defense; I don't care. I just want you on my team."

 

"If I lose to you in a fiery cataclysm," Catherine scoffs. "I would rather die than crawl back to Washington to work in your cabinet."

 

"We'll see in a week." He simply shrugs.

 

"In a week, _I'll_ be President of the United States," She smirks, reaching around him to grab her rifle, and starts back off into the woods. "And _you'll_ be far away, back in California."

* * *

 

She's in Charleston on the night of the election, wandering the halls of a massive old townhouse while hundreds of workers buzz around her, flitting by TVs and banging away on calculators. Outside, thousands have already gathered to hear her speech later - whether a concession speech or a victory speech is yet to be determined.

 

She escapes to a quiet, dark sitting room, the warped wood floor moaning beneath her feet. The white lights of a million cameras blur together outside, and the shouts and noise dull to a muted roar, and her cellphone ringing sounds too loud in the heavy air.

 

"How's Santa Monica?" She asks as a greeting, and the laughter on the other end makes the tension in her shoulders ease a little.

 

"I'm looking out over the Pacific; it's a beautiful sunset, Senator." Joe Solomon sighs, and she closes her eyes, can almost picture the silent beach in her mind, can almost hear the crashing of waves. "What do you see, Catherine?" He whispers, and heart clenches. "What are you seeing through your eyes?"

 

"A rather unflattering portrait of a Confederate general," She glances up. "And a sea of people outside my window." There's a long pause, and she wonders if he's imagining himself in this very room with her.

 

"I miss you, you know that?" He says, and though his voice is hushed it sounds too loud. "You won't believe me, but I like you."

 

"You're too nice for these political games, Congressman." She replies wistfully. "You'll have to forge a backbone of steel if you become president."

 

"I'm tougher than you think." He replies seriously, and she thinks about that for a long moment, how strong and resilient this boy must be behind his adoring facade.

 

Suddenly, there is wild cheering and the whole building is shaking around her, and she can hear curses and shouts from his end of the line.

 

"You just won Ohio." His voice is flat, and her breath catches in her throat because _this is it_. "Looks like you have a speech to go over, _Madame President_."

 

"When you said that I would make a good president, were you telling the truth?" She exhales as she turns away from the window.

 

"Yes." He simply says, before the line goes dead. And when she steps out of that stale room, all eyes are on _her_.

 

* * *

 

"Are you ready?" Edward Townsend, her chief of staff, looks up from his phone, nose red in the early January air. "You've practiced the speech?"

 

"'I'm so honored and humbled to be elected President', 'I will faithfully execute' laws or some shit, whatever." She yawns, longing for a coffee. Just yards away, she can see thousands upon thousands of people huddled together, all awaiting _her_ , and it's sort of exhilarating.

 

Everyone looks up at her and nods in reverence as she and Secret Service pass by, armed guards saluting. She hardly takes notice, but her eyes catch on a familiar blond head watching her carefully from a lone pillar on the Capitol steps.

 

"A moment, please." She orders, dismissing her posse with a flick of the wrist. Alone, she approaches the solitary man, leaning next to him on the pillar and pulling her wool jacket closer around her.

 

"How does it feel?" He asks, cloudy breath floating away in the air.

 

She debates rubbing it in for a second, before deciding against it. "It feels..." but she doesn't quite know - she is about to be made the official leader of the free world, but she can't put it into words. "Different." She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, surveying his profile. "Are you angry?"

 

"No," He shrugs. "Many politicians have survived losing the presidential election." He turns to face her, eyes sharp and bright in the cold, and he runs his fingers over the flag pin on her coat. "Nice pin."

 

"It's the one JFK was wearing when he was shot."

 

"Really?"

 

"Fuck no." He scoffs darkly, before moving his hand away from her.

 

"I'm sorry. I know, ' _We do not touch the President'_."

 

"I'm not technically President. Not yet, anyway." She exhales, and finally he's kissing her, and she can feel his lips quirk into a smile against hers.

 

Thankfully, her Secret Service detail tactfully turns away, leaving her to aggressively make out with the former Congressman in relative privacy. His hands clutch her right against him, and she can feel the unyielding ridges of the column digging into her back.

 

"I have my inauguration in three minutes." She points out as his lips press furiously into her neck.

 

"Then go. Be _inaugurated_."  He chuckles darkly against her skin, sending shivers along her spine, before digging his teeth into the skin right near her shoulder and she _moans_.

 

"I can't _wait_ for the American public to notice I have a hickey blooming on my neck during my inaugural speech." She sighs as he steps away from her, his tongue running along his bottom lip in a way that makes her blush.

 

"Button your collar up higher, darling." He takes her hand and presses his lips to her knuckles, and she can feel their heat through her leather gloves. "I will see you at the inaugural ball."

 

"Sounds like a promise." She hums, taking note of his smirk, and stepping away from him. "And Joe?" She glances over her shoulder, away from the thousands of people waiting for her.

 

"State, Defense, Homeland Security - take your pick."

 

 


End file.
